Perhaps

perhaps
when I am older
I’ll have a garden to tend
where bees gambol
in a ‘bee-loud glade’
with abundant shade

fritillaries will cavort
in bright yellow sun
caper and dance
over red and blue zinnias
nodding in a gentle breeze

my hands will be rough and gritty
back wet with sweat
and no one will care if I fret
about roses rhododendrons daisies
and the rest who will
spray their colors joyfully
in an endless season

what we think
is ours to make and mend
is leant to an innocent
for a moment
wrapped in a timeless dream
imagined at home
in a remote garden
one step short
of paradise

David Sermersheim